Smithson watched in amazement as the light hit the ground and expanded rapidly, filling the entirety of the plains with blazing radiance. But why wasn't he blinded? Or the general for that matter? The western soldiers were all collapsing, or trying desperately to shield their eyes with an arm, or just screaming, terrified, when they realised they could see nothing... but curiously, none of Smithson's side were being affected in this way.
The general held out an arm and pulled Smithson to his feet, and together they ceased the opportunity, slashing and jabbing their way through the confused opposition. All around, people of the west were doing the same, and the air was filled with their cries of wonder: "The prophesy....!" "We're saved!" "I told you not to doubt it Jones!"
The blinded army was now trying to retreat, stumbling through the marshy, body-ridden blood bath. The king's men pursued them for a while, decreasing their enemy's numbers in happy relief. Then came the sound of the horn- VICTORY! - and the remaining survivors were pitied and left to make their way back to their own territory.